


How to Bag Harry Potter

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill), traintracks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Modification, Cross-Generation Relationship, M/M, Metamorphmagus, POV Second Person, Rimming, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:45:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1517828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/traintracks/pseuds/traintracks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teddy's trying everything he can think of to attract Harry. None of it is necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Bag Harry Potter

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: This is a sequel to How to Resist Shagging Teddy Lupin. Big thanks to birdsofshore for the beta!

Wear the red shirt.

The white one.

The black one.

The ripped one.

Be a boy, a man. Contemplate being a woman for a while.

Throw yourself at him in all your guises and see which version sticks.

Be, above all things, patient.

This is how you bag Harry Potter.

 

 

Know that he thinks he shouldn't want you. This is very important. Are you listening? Because he thinks you're a kid. He thinks you're his responsibility.

He's right.

He used to be right.

Convince him he's wrong, even though you worship at his feet like any of his common sycophants, his pilgrims, come to seek redemption through his touch.

Get him to touch you. This won't be so difficult. He's tactile. Just bump into him. There you go! If you get him cornered in the kitchen, he won't bolt. He's too polite to just Apparate the hell away from you.

He'll suffer it. As shitty as it sounds, you'll need to use his ambiguity about you.

Sidle up. Be his godson. Then press your body against his softly. Act like you're unaware of your own daunting erection. Ask him how many teaspoons of thyme.

Getting Harry to touch you is not the problem. Harry touches you like he won't touch anyone else. Wear this secret like a badge of honor.

Try not to get distracted when he smiles at you.

God, he's smiling at you.

Swallow. Smile back, you idiot! He's going to think you've gone all morose teenager on him, and he'll sit you down to talk about Life.

Show him you can handle it. Handle him.

You know you can. He probably has some idea of what you can do in bed. Switch your hair on a whim. If you think he's going to touch your arm, give it a little more muscle. You've seen Harry's porn. He likes them hard like that. But just to run the gamut, turn willowy on him a few times. Harry's versatile enough that he could very well be a switch.

And so are you. Go ahead and laugh at your little joke.

Let him see it.

He'll think you're deep and mysterious, right?

When he sighs and walks out of the room, don't count it as a failure.

Was it my hair? Was it the shirt?

You've taken Muggle Studies. There are two thousand ways not to make a light bulb.

 

 

It's late. His study light is on. He's probably got a cold tea or an empty whiskey glass next to his clenched right hand.

He probably needs a shave.

He needs to know he's already saved the world and the paperwork can wait.

He needs touch. You know how he gets.

Harry needs to fuck.

Don't knock. Harry appreciates assertiveness. Wrest that tiny ounce of control from him, and he'll be grateful you did.

He'll sigh at you, smiling, "Hey, Teddy."

Close the door behind you. It makes him nervous and turns him on. Consider making this really easy and just morphing into a leggy brunette in a red negligee. But that would negate all the time you took shaping your cock in the bathroom, looking at it in the mirror and adding an inch of length, going back to uncut, wondering how his tongue might feel circling the wet, peeking head of you.

Don't think about how many times he's told you you're perfect how you are. Don't believe him. Because he hasn't grabbed you yet, hasn't kissed you yet.

He hasn't fallen for you.

Keep shifting until it works.

Say, "Do you have a minute?"

If he thinks you need him, he'll cave.

He leans back in his chair, the leather squeaking. "Yeah. What's up? Something wrong?"

Walk around the desk. Tell him he looks tired, but be careful that he doesn't assume you pity him. If he thinks this is a pity fuck…

God, it's heartbreaking, isn't it? That he has no idea how handsome he is.

He has some idea how much you want him.

He has no clue how badly you just want him to kiss you.

Just kiss you.

Peruse his bookshelves contemplatively. Come around behind his desk. Feel him watching your every step, his sharp eyes descending down your body.

Say something straight out of a porno, like, "You look tense."

He won't expect sonnets from you; you're nineteen years old. Your strength is in your changing body and what it can do to him, for him.

Your strength is how bloody hard you want him.

If he lets you touch his shoulders, start slow. Press your thumbs to the back of his neck and listen to how his breathing changes, lengthens. Feel his muscles succumb to you. Make sensuous circles at the base of his skull, stirring his hair.

When he dips his head down in supplication, do it all a little harder. Let your hands roam over his shoulders, down his back.

He can't help but moan and sigh, the sounds escaping like secrets.

Step closer. His body heat is incredible. How would that feel on top of you, his sweat slick between you on a cold winter night?

Pause.

Remove his glasses even though you love how he looks in them. Lay them gently on the blotter. Start in on him again. Thumbs between his shoulder blades, fingers tracing his collar bone, his jaw.

When he lays his head back into your hands, don't groan with joy. Massage his scalp and his warm neck. Run your fingers over the new growth of his beard.

His eyes are closed. His lips parted.

Lean down.

Lean in so close.

Dart your tongue out and taste his bottom lip.

When he jerks away and says your name like an accusation, don't back off. This is the test. This is where you prove yourself worthy of him.

Look at him. Stroke your hand through his hair.

"You're pink," he says.

"What?"

He reaches up, hesitates, and then touches your hair, too. "Pink."

This was unintentional. This was not what you'd planned. But he's looking at you like...

Fuck, Teddy, kiss him. Kiss him hard now. He'll open his lips for you. He'll allow you in. Steal in with your tongue and taste him. He will kiss you back. He's probably a little hard from the massage. But don't just go right for the cock, no matter how bad you want it.

Slow the kiss. Deepen it. Hear how he's breathing for you. Feel his hands cupping your jaw and holding you close for it.

Rejoice.

He is manna. He is honeyed whiskey.

His tongue enters your mouth, soft and slow. His thumbs smooth up and down your throat, feeling you swallow.

When you gasp, he'll haul you into his lap, straddling him, your lips barely separating, and when his hands grab your hips, grind.

God, grind.

Pant into his mouth with how divine your cock feels rubbing against him. Grab the back of his chair for leverage. Open your eyes and look at him, freshly kissed. His eyes are near-black, hair even more fucked up than usual.

Don't gush that you're in love with him.

Don't break this spell.

Rock your hips. When his breath hitches from it, kiss him again. You can probably get his shirt unbuttoned if you can just kiss him stupid for a few moments.

He'll feel your hands on his bare chest, though, and he might jolt. Whimper against his lips. Let him know you think you might die if he makes you stop.

He's starved for touch, too. This works in your favour.

When he rips your shirt up and off, it's okay to smile. Every layer is a new abandonment. Every piece of clothing is a confession and an answer to a confession. Kiss him hard and work on his trousers.

He'll pull back and say your name again, but it's all right now.

Everything's all right now.

Touch the stubble along his jaw. Watch him lick his lips. Try not to rut on him until you come.

Get up off his lap, and when he gives you that beautiful, sexy, confused frown, don't just go climbing back on. Give him a smile before you shuck off your jeans and pants. Plop your naked butt onto his desk blotter.

Avoid the glasses!

Lean back on your hands. Display yourself even though you're blushing. When he looks right at your cock as it lays in the crevice of your hip, go ahead and let yourself bite your lip. When he scoots forward in the chair, spread your legs and make room.

Stop breathing.

The closer his mouth gets, the more you're going to want to die from it.

When he tells you he's going to Hell for this, don't believe him.

When he pulls your cock toward his mouth and wraps his lips around it, let your head fall back on the unthinkable pleasure.

He's really good at it.

He's ridiculously good at it.

It's no wonder you start to tremble. His mouth is warm and slow, his stubble electric against your thighs, his hands…parting you.

But then he lifts his mouth. He says, "Teddy… Is this you?"

Feel your heart stop. Feel your blood flash cold and then scalding. Consider being coy. Open your mouth to speak. But then look at him. Really look at his face.

Breathe out.

Shake your head no.

"Can I see you?" he asks.

Avoid his eyes. Close your own. Morph.

Go back to your regular length and girth. Go back to your own arms. Put the mole back on your thigh, the two zits on your back. Don't look at him.

"Teddy…" he says. His hands on your legs make you shiver. "Look at me."

And because you can never deny him, do it.

He'll say nothing, and he doesn't have to. It's all in how he touches your face, lets his hand slip down your chest, in how he aims your cock toward his mouth and then goes all…the way…down.

"Fu-uck!" It's a choked cry that he tears out of you.

When he presses a hand to your stomach, lie back. You thought you'd run the show, but Harry's taking over, and that's more than all right.

Lie back on his big desk as his hands stroke your thighs and pull you to the edge and he just keeps sucking your cock. Haul your knees into your armpits while he dips his mouth and sucks on your bollocks. Groan loud and long and hard.

"C'mere," he murmurs deep.

Hang your arse off the edge. When he kneels on the floor and then buries his face in you, grab for that desk like the world's tilting and you're going to fall off.

It is.

You are.

Harry Potter is eating your arse.

His scruff scrapes your tender skin, but his tongue and lips are sweet with you, his breath hot. His hand finds your cock and jacks idly. His tongue teases at your hole, and all you can do is whimper and roll your hips, wanting him inside.

"Harry…" you can't help but gasp.

Maybe this is a good thing, because he goes at you harder. He likes hearing you say his name. Perhaps he needs it to know you're thinking of him, knowing it's him.

Wanting him.

How could it not be him?

You're too primed for this. When his tongue pushes inside you, you come all over yourself, all over his desk and his hand.

Harry is rimming you. What choice do you have but to make a mess of yourself?

He raises his lips, stands. You're still riding the last of your orgasm. His hands pet your thighs while he looks down on you, an indecipherable, mostly-tender expression on his face.

He gives you a hand up. He cups your face in his palms. He's looking at you like he's still not sure what to make of you. His eyes dance over your face like he's never quite seen you before. You wonder if you've morphed all strange without knowing it.

Ask him, "Do I look weird?"

"I don't know. Give me my glasses."

You laugh together over this. You perch his glasses on his nose and then push them gently up.

"You look…" he answers. Then he swoops in and kisses the answer into you.

Wrap your arms around him. Feel his clothed body snug against your nude one, cold little buttons on your skin, wool trousers against your sated cock.

He's rock hard.

He's ready.

Sneak your hand down there and squeeze him.

When he growls against your lips, tell him you'll do anything he wants.

"Harry, anything."

"Are you sure about that?" he tests.

Unzip his trousers.

"How fast can you get hard again?" he asks.

It's okay to smirk. This is where you shine.

Concentrate. Close your eyes and bite your lip. Feel it get hard and long, rising up between you. But don't alter it. Don't grow it.

For once, be yourself.

For once, let him see.

Ask, "You mean like that?"

"Christ, Teddy," he breathes. His hands roam down your unremarkable arms like you're some kind of Adonis.

Ask, "You want me?"

"Yes."

Against his jaw, "Want me to fuck you?"

Feel his answer: "Yessss."

Kiss the sharp barbs of his beard and whisper, "Then take off your clothes, Harry."

When he strips for you, when he gets on all fours for you, hold back all that you want to say.

That he's everything you've always dreamed of.

That you used to morph into him when you were younger and touch yourself.

That you worship the ground he's now kneeling on.

Get behind him. Massage his arse. Delight that he's so hairy back here. It's going to feel perfect against your sensitive prick.

Slide it between his arse cheeks and watch the wet head breach over his cleft. Squeeze his hairy cheeks around your dick and fuck between them. Ask, "Is that good?" Because all you've ever wanted to be is good for him.

"Fuck me," he answers, arching his back.

Don't waste any time now. Like you have the choice! You're nervous to Cast in front of him. You always have been. But do it. Cast a wandless lube charm, your cock twitching up hard on his gasp.

Press your cock into him.

Oh God…

Push past the resistance into the warm, soft, slick heat of him – so tight you must be hurting him.

Watch the muscles in his back ripple. Hear him grunt, hanging his head.

Ask, "All right?"

And when he answers, "Yeah," (like you're a man, like you're not his responsibility after all, like he likes the way you fuck) thrust all the way in. Bury yourself. You just came, and you're so sensitive. He's hugging you so hard. Throb inside the man whose love has ruled your life.

If the words, "You rule me," fall from your lips, hope that maybe he didn't hear you.

When he reaches back and takes your hand and pulls it around to his chest, holding it secure over his heart, wrap your body over top of him, protecting him for once, and start rolling your hips.

Lay your cheek against his back and fuck him.

His heart pounds against both of your hands. You feel both animal and reverent. Turn your lips to his sweaty skin and lick and bite him.

He puts his hand back down on the floor so that you can go harder. Do it. Brace yourself, hands and feet on the floor, and piston into him. He lets out a sound of utter surrender to you. Your body is bouncing his, and it's so perverse and beautiful, you want to cry.

You want to hold him.

You're, once again, dying to come.

Let go.

Just let bloody go.

Come inside him. Fill him. Slick him. Hold him close to you, your hand on his heaving stomach, and know you can never take this back. Your cells know him now, are inside him now. No Scourgify can erase you from him or him from you.

Find his cock with your trembling hand. When he growls and holds your fist still, and then fucks his cock through its circle, concentrate with everything you have and vibrate your body. Ratchet your atoms into a frenzy. Make him fly apart under you.

There is nothing like the sound of Harry Potter's orgasm.

This is madness and heaven.

Let the space behind your eyes go light and then dark.

Fall.

 

When you come to, it's natural to ask, "Where am I?"

Blink.

Harry is dressed again, but only in unfastened trousers. He's sifting a tender hand over your forehead.

"You're on the sofa. I think you fainted."

Squeeze your eyes closed in mortification. "Oh God…"

Hear his warm chuckle. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I-- I think I just—"

"Vibrated yourself into oblivion?"

"Yeah."

"I would have come for you anyway," he tells you.

Open your eyes. Look at his caring face. Devour the sight of his bare chest, his belt flopping open.

When his hand moves over your hair, try to suppress the shiver and fail. When he says, "I lasted so long," on a pensive sigh, come up on an elbow, wrap your hand around his neck and kiss the fear away. His and yours.

Taste yourself on his lips and tell him, "I thought you'd never want me."

When he pulls back, meet his eyes.

See everything he wants to say but feels too fucked up to own.

Your hair's going pink again.

Don't stop it.

 

Wear the red shirt.

The white one.

The black one.

The ripped one.

Be a boy, a man. Contemplate being a woman for a while.

And know that none of that shit ever even mattered.

Not a shred of it.

Because this – this kiss – is how you bag Harry Potter.


End file.
